


Backbeat, the Word is on the Street

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Friendship, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-14
Updated: 2010-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his phone rings after a bad day, Mikado has two choices: to answer or not to answer. (Alternate timeline for Episode 22.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backbeat, the Word is on the Street

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the [Durarara!! Kink Meme](http://drrrkink.livejournal.com/). The title comes from lyrics to Oasis's "Wonderwall."

When his phone vibrates, Mikado flinches. He should have turned it off after he shut down the Dollars forum. He reaches for it to do so now—and then he sees who's calling.

Kida Masaomi. The last person in the world Mikado wants to talk to right now, with his exuberance, his easy and endless chatter. And also, for those very same qualities, maybe the only person in the world Mikado could stand to talk to right now.

And of course, Masaomi is his best friend, which is what decides it. "Hello?"

"Mikado." Masaomi's voice is unexpectedly flat, dark where it should be bright.

Mikado uncurls himself and sits up. "Masaomi? Is everything all right?" Masaomi doesn't answer right away but Mikado can hear breathing on the other end, so he knows Masaomi is still there. "What's wrong?" The back of Mikado's neck prickles; the cold prickle slides down along his spine, making him shiver as he thinks of what happened earlier in the evening. "Is it Sonohara? Is she—"

"It's just me," Masaomi says. He laughs, but it's not cheerful and warm; it's almost hollow, but somehow there's a weight, dragging it down. "I was just wondering if I could come over." Then without giving Mikado a chance to answer, he says, "Never mind. I shouldn't have—I'm sorry, Mikado. Go back to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow!" Bright notes wind into his tone but the hollowness is still there, as if Masaomi is imitating himself.

That's the worst yet, so Mikado says, "No, come over. You can—I want you to."

This time Mikado can't even hear breathing, but the line hasn't gone dead. So he waits and eventually Masaomi, voice once more subdued, says, "All right. If that's what you want."

"It is," Mikado says quickly.

There's a long exhale, as if Masaomi has been holding his breath. "See you soon, then."

"See you," Mikado says, but Masaomi already has hung up.

 

Mikado is starting to think Masaomi has changed his mind. In other circumstances he'd just assume Masaomi got distracted and is off gallivanting about the streets of Ikebukuro, but Mikado can't shake the strange hollow weight he'd felt in Masaomi's voice. He's turned his phone on to check for messages or missed calls a dozen times, only to turn it off again when there's nothing from Masaomi, and he's about to turn it on for the thirteenth time when there's a knock at the door.

One look at Masaomi confirms for Mikado that he's done the right thing. Masaomi doesn't quite meet Mikado's eye as he comes in and stands, soaked through and dripping, by the door.

"I'll run you a bath," Mikado offers, but Masaomi declines with a shake of his head. "You need to get warm and dry, at least," Mikado says as he picks up a towel. It feels weird to be the one doing all the talking. "Here." Mikado drapes the towel over Masaomi's head and gives it a rub.

"Thanks." Masaomi raises his hands to take over.

As Masaomi dries his hair, Mikado rummages for something for him to change into. "Sorry," he says, holding out the t-shirt and underwear he found. "This is all I have that's clean."

"Thanks," Masaomi says again. He starts to strip out of his wet clothing right there, so Mikado turns around to give him privacy. He turns back when Masaomi says, "Where should I put these?"

"I'll take them." For all the times Mikado has wished Masaomi would be a little more responsible, he finds himself wishing Masaomi had left the clothing where it fell this time in a characteristic, recognizably Masaomi-like move. He makes space on his desk and spreads out the rain-sodden clothing on that and his chair, not sure if they'll be able to dry by morning but not having any better ideas.

When he finishes, he finds Masaomi still standing by the door, hair tousled and damp, though no longer dripping, skinny arms and legs bare. He looks so young, Mikado thinks. He almost looks, if this weren't Masaomi and if Mikado didn't know better, forlorn.

"I only have the one futon," Mikado apologizes as he goes over to it.

"That's okay," Masaomi says, coming over, too. "I don't mind the floor."

Mikado laughs. It's not hollow like Masaomi's was on the phone, but it's not as full as it should be. He wonders if Masaomi noticed. "Don't be stupid." He tries a grin and punches Masaomi's arm. "There's enough room for both of us, if you don't mind sleeping close."

Masaomi looks at him and sucks in the kind of breath that usually precedes words, but he doesn't say anything. Then he nods and gets under the covers.

After turning out the lights, Mikado does, too, settling on his back. Masaomi is on his side, facing away. Mikado wonders if he should try asking what's wrong again. No, he _knows_ he should—but somehow he can't bring himself to. He's afraid Masaomi won't answer again; and he's afraid maybe Masaomi will. He doesn't know what he's more afraid of and he doesn't know what he'd do whichever way Masaomi were to answer. Mikado just doesn't know what to do.

Then he feels Masaomi shift beside him, rolling over to face Mikado. "I don't want to be lonely anymore."

Mikado turns onto his side, too, straining to make out Masaomi's face in the dark. "Masaomi..." He didn't know Masaomi felt lonely. There's something really awful in that, both the loneliness itself and Mikado's ignorance of it.

He knows he should say more and he's searching for coherence, struggling for articulation when he feels Masaomi move again—and then Mikado finds himself on his back once more, Masaomi astride him. Hands on Mikado's shoulders, Masaomi says, "I don't want to be alone anymore."

What little light there is in the room is coming from a window behind Masaomi's head, so Mikado can't read his expression at all. Nor can he read the situation. Masaomi sitting on him has the form of playfulness but there's no laughter, no tickling or wrestling, so Mikado doesn't know why Masaomi has him pinned like this. An idea scrabbles at Mikado's mind but it can't quite break through.

"I don't want to be alone anymore, Mikado," Masaomi repeats.

Something about the way Masaomi says his name unlocks Mikado's tongue. "You're not alone." He touches one of Masaomi's hands where it's pushing against his shoulder. "I'm with you. And so is Sonohara."

Masaomi makes a sound that might be a laugh except it's strangled, dying even as it passes Masaomi's lips. He sits back, releasing Mikado's shoulders though he doesn't move off. "I don't know how long that will be true."

"What do you mean?"

Masaomi only gets up and goes to the window. Mikado sits up, watching Masaomi's back as Masaomi looks out into the night. He knows Masaomi heard the question; there's no point repeating it. All Mikado can do right now is wait for his friend to be ready to talk to him.

Moments pass into moments, bleeding together into longer and longer moments. The patter of raindrops against the window, not regular enough to mark the passage of time, at least lets Mikado know time hasn't come to a stand-still.

Finally Masaomi says, "There are things you don't know about me, Mikado." He continues studying the night.

"There are things you don't know about me, either," Mikado says.

"Are you sure about that?"

Masaomi's words, spoken softly, ring loudly in Mikado's head, setting off a new prickling. This time Mikado doesn't bother asking what Masaomi means. He gets up and goes to lean on the wall by the window, trying to catch Masaomi's eye. Masaomi doesn't look at him, though, and after a moment Mikado drops his gaze. All the helplessness and powerlessness of the evening is coming back to him. He half-wishes he hadn't answered his phone, after all—but then where would Masaomi have gone and what would he be doing now? As bad as this feels, Mikado can't help thinking the alternative would be worse.

As if picking up on traces of Mikado's thoughts that have somehow leaked out of his head, Masaomi says, "I hear the Dollars had a big night tonight."

Although Mikado really doesn't want to talk about the Dollars right now, he's relieved Masaomi has found something to chat about. He makes a non-committal sound, knowing that's usually all the encouragement Masaomi needs to keep talking.

Sure enough, Masaomi goes on, "Who do you think the leader of the Dollars hates more than anyone else?"

The question, unlike anything Masaomi has speculated about before when it comes to the Dollars, takes Mikado by surprise. "Um," he says, "I don't think he hates anyone."

"I do," Masaomi says. The forceful undercurrent to his quiet words makes Mikado look at him, turning to lean sideways against the wall. "Or he should."

The prickling is back. This time it doesn't just crawl down Mikado's spine; it spreads out, sinks in, curls up in his chest cavity. "He should?"

Masaomi nods. "If I were him, if I were the leader of the Dollars, I'd hate the boss of the Yellow Scarves."

Their gazes meet and lock as Masaomi turns from the window at last. And now maybe time _is_ standing still because Mikado can't seem to hear the rain anymore; all he can hear is his own heartbeat, the rush of his blood. "Masaomi, what—" His voice sounds distant to him. He feels his mouth moving, hears the words from farway: "What are you trying to say?"

Masaomi doesn't even blink as he says, "I think you know."

The prickling shoots up into his brain. Mikado shakes his head but he can't dislodge the thoughts the multiplied pricklings have put there. He shakes his head again, anyhow. "Why... Why would you say something like that?" He searches Masaomi's face by the pale light of the moon, wishing it were brighter so he'd be able to make out the hints of the terrible joke Masaomi surely is playing on him. "Why would you want me to think something like that?"

Then it occurs to him that maybe this whole thing—Masaomi calling him, pretending to be like this, claiming to be lonely—is all a bluff, a set-up to test a suspicion Masaomi somehow developed about Mikado's connection to the Dollars. He has no idea how Masaomi figured it out, but that must be it. He's about to say he knows Masaomi must be mad and he's sorry he didn't let Masaomi in on it, sorry he didn't tell Masaomi himself and that he'll talk about it with Masaomi tomorrow but he doesn't want to, he _can't_ talk about it now, not tonight.

Mikado is about to say all of that but before he can, Masaomi says, "It's true I don't want to be alone anymore. But I also don't want to keep lying and hiding."

He takes a step towards Mikado and, without thinking, Mikado takes a step back; mind reeling, he takes another step back even when Masaomi stops moving.

"I guess I was right," Masaomi says. "The leader of the Dollars _does_ hate the boss of the Yellow Scarves." He laughs.

That laugh, one of the saddest, loneliest sounds Mikado has ever heard, reverberates in his heart. Even so, when Masaomi moves forward, Mikado moves back again. This time Masaomi doesn't stop. Mikado stumbles into the wall, flattens himself against it, and Masaomi keeps coming; keeps going, past Mikado to pick up his still-wet jeans from the chair where Mikado had set them to dry. "Sorry, Mikado, I'm going to borrow these," he says as he pulls the jeans on over the underwear Mikado lent him. He keeps Mikado's shirt on, too, as he slips into his hoodie. "I'll send them back after I've had a chance to clean them for you." He goes to the door and, without a backward glance, leaves.

This is the worst, the most incomprehensible, just the _worst_ night of Mikado's life. He doesn't understand at all how everything came to this. He isn't even sure he understands what it's come to, to tell the truth—but there's one thing he does know. He knows if he doesn't do something right now, everything could get a whole lot worse.

Mikado catches up with Masaomi at the top of the stairwell. He reaches before Masaomi can take the first step down, fist bunching in the wet cotton blend of the hoodie. Masaomi stops; he doesn't pull away but he doesn't turn around. Mikado takes another step closer, letting go only to wrap his arms around Masaomi.

He shivers as the cold residual damp of the clothing seeps through his pajama top and onto his skin; he shivers and wraps himself closer to Masaomi. "Don't go," he whispers. He has a feeling if he lets Masaomi go now, they'll lose each other forever. He understands what Masaomi just confessed in the room but he also knows there has to be more to it; there _has_ to be. And he knows he doesn't want to lose Masaomi, especially now—no, that's not right. It's not just "especially now." Mikado does not want to lose Masaomi, full-stop. "Stay, okay?" Mikado will do whatever he has to, whatever he can, not to lose Masaomi. "Stay with me tonight, okay?" His arms tighten around Masaomi as he presses himself closer still. "We can—we can do sex stuff, if you—"

The rest of Mikado's sentence gets lost as Masaomi's elbow jabs into him, as Masaomi twists around and pushes Mikado to the floor. Masaomi glares down. "You don't have to make fun of me like that."

"Isn't that why you came here tonight?" Mikado makes no move to get up. It's a risk, but in the short time he's had to think about it, this is what he's put together and he doesn't think he's wrong. "I thought, when you had me pinned down in bed, I just thought—"

"You thought I was going to molest you?" Masaomi half-turns, face hidden by his raised arm.

"No." Mikado gets to his feet. Masaomi doesn't brush him off when Mikado goes to him, but he doesn't lower his arm even when Masaomi touches it. "I thought you wanted to kiss me. Or maybe," and Mikado understands the truth of it as he hears himself say, "it was just me wanting you to."

"Don't make such fun of me," Masaomi says, pressing his face even closer to his arm. "It's okay to hate me, but please, if you ever liked me even a little, Mikado—stop making fun of me like this."

"I'm not making fun of you," Mikado says earnestly. "And I don't hate you. I—"

"I do," Masaomi interrupts.

Mikado falters, knocked off-balance by Masaomi's words. "You...you hate me, Masaomi?"

Masaomi shakes his head. "Myself." It's the quietest his voice has been tonight, maybe the softest Mikado has ever heard it, but the word is unmistakable.

"Well, I don't." Mikado pushes at Masaomi's intractable arm. "I don't hate you." He pushes more. "I don't hate you, Masaomi," he tells his friend, still pushing, and finally Masaomi lets Mikado lower his arm.

Their eyes meet. When Mikado is sure Masaomi isn't going to look away, he says, "I—like you. I really like you a lot."

"Even though you know what I am?" Masaomi says, searching Mikado's eyes.

Mikado can't lie, especially not with Masaomi looking at him like that. "I'm not sure I do know what you are," he says slowly. Before the light can fade from Masaomi's eyes, he adds, "But I know _who_ you are: Masaomi is Masaomi. We can figure out the rest tomorrow. For now, that's all I need to know."

They look at each other for a moment so long, Mikado is sure time definitely has stopped.

And then Masaomi laughs. It's full, so full a little of the warmth spills out and reaches Masaomi's eyes as he keeps looking at Mikado, who can't help grinning in response.

"Don't say such embarrassing things, Mikado! That's my job, isn't it?"

"Go ahead, then," Mikado dares him, trying and failing to fight off the hints of a blush.

"No, no." Eyes closed, Masaomi turns up his nose, lifting his hands palm-upwards. "You've stolen the moment from me."

He squints one eye open at Mikado and is about to go on when the nearest door opens. "You damn kids better clear out of here," a big man, no less imposing for the sleep tugging at his eyelids, says as he leans out into the hallway.

"A thousand apologies, my good sir!" Masaomi twirls a bowed apology to the man, reaching for Mikado with his other hand and dragging him off in the direction of Mikado's room before the neighbor can elaborate on his threat.

Safely back in the room, Mikado locks the door behind them and glances over at Masaomi, who is leaning heavily against the wall as if he wouldn't be able to stand without it. Masaomi inhales deeply as if he's run himself breathless, then lets out the exhale just as deeply. Not looking at Mikado, Masaomi lifts a hand to brush at his eyes even though he's not laughing now and he wasn't laughing hard enough in the hallway to make himself cry.

Mikado turns away to give him a private moment, coming up with the pretext of looking for something dry for them to change into—which, come to think of it, is more of a legitimate concern than an excuse. After poking around, he digs up two t-shirts. "These are the last ones," he says as he turns around, hoping he's given Masaomi enough time. "So you better not go running off again." He grins to soften the words, though he really means them.

Masaomi smiles, too. It's a small smile, but Mikado is reassured by the way the light of it flickers in Masaomi's eyes. "I won't," he promises as Mikado tosses him one of the shirts.

There's nothing to be done about the underwear, though. After a moment of hesitation, Mikado takes off his pajama bottoms and holds them out. "Here, you can have these." When Masaomi regards them uncertainly, Mikado says, "You can't sleep in wet underwear, and I don't have another pair. So you can sleep in these, and I'll just..." He trails off, self-consciously tugging at the hem of his shirt with his free hand.

"If you're sure?" Masaomi asks. When Mikado nods, Masaomi takes the pajamas from him and starts to peel off the wet jeans. "Thank you, Mikado."

There's a weight to Masaomi's voice again, but it's not at all like the hollow weight of earlier. It is, if anything, the opposite. Mikado can only nod again; nod and smile.

With a sense of déjà vu, he goes to flick off the light switch while Masaomi finishes changing and climbs under the covers. Only now the feeling is completely different than it was when they did this earlier. Mikado slips under the covers, settling on his side, back-to-back with Masaomi. He listens to Masaomi breathing in the dark; his own breathing slides into the same comfortable rhythm and he's on the edge of sleep, when Masaomi says his name.

There's a negotiation of shifting blankets as they both roll to face each other. "Hey, Mikado," Masaomi says, "were you serious out there?"

"Of course." Mikado smiles in the dark, hoping the smile makes it into his voice where Masaomi can hear it. "I like you."

Masaomi's breath whuffles against Mikado's face in what Mikado suspects might be soft laughter. "I like you, too. But I meant—the other thing..."

Realizing Masaomi means "sex stuff," Mikado says, "Oh," and hopes his blush doesn't color his voice.

"About kissing," Masaomi says.

"Oh," Mikado says again. That's not really an answer, he knows, but despite his ability to say what Masaomi classifies as "embarrassing things" with ease just moments ago, Mikado finds himself wordless now. So he leans forward and presses his lips to Masaomi's.

Mikado knows, in theory, that kissing is supposed to involve tongues. He's not really sure how that works, though, so he pulls back, ending the kiss. It's the same sort of kiss he might give a relative. Masaomi is sure to be disappointed; Mikado just hopes he doesn't laugh.

Masaomi shifts closer and Mikado feels his breath; and then he feels Masaomi's lips again. A touch. Just a touch, soft and firm; a touch, and then gone.

Another touch, lingering this time.

Masaomi brushes across with the next touch, caressing Mikado's lips with softness and breaths, causing Mikado's heart to beat hard against his swollen lungs. Feeling Masaomi's breath, Mikado wants to touch more than Masaomi's lips, he wants to touch Masaomi's very breath with his own. When he feels Masaomi's breath this time, Mikado parts his lips to welcome it.

Their breaths mingle between their open mouths, in the space between them, seeping out into the air as Masaomi withdraws. With a small, choked breath, Mikado follows blindly, leaning in: their lips touch again, and this time it's Mikado who brushes across Masaomi's mouth. Masaomi opens for him, breathes into him; flicks the tip of his tongue with unbearable lightness across Mikado's lip, curls up behind Mikado's lip, slides down along his teeth and then behind them. Mikado feels the kiss in Masaomi's fingertips, his hand cupped around Mikado's neck now, massaging as he cradles the nape. His tongue is in Mikado's mouth, stroking slow and slick, and Mikado opens more, wide and wider, wanting, please, _more_ —

A whimper escapes Mikado at the loss of Masaomi's mouth, but before he can open his eyes he feels Masaomi's hand along his jaw, coaxing it to close a little but not entirely. "Like this," Masaomi murmurs against him, bringing his lips to Mikado's again, parting just enough to let breath and tongue pass between them, just enough to fit his mouth to Mikado's. His fingertips kiss Mikado's neck, the hollow behind his ear, along and under his jaw, coaxing and guiding him in the kiss.

"You're really good at this," Mikado murmurs, voice faintly slurred, when they part this time. "Really, really good."

Masaomi ruffles his hair. "I thought I told you to stop saying embarrassing things," he says, but he sounds pleased.

Mikado tries to tell Masaomi it's not embarrassing if it's true, but Masaomi is still playing with his hair and Mikado's words come out inarticulately in something close to a purr before he manages to mumble, "More."

Masaomi laughs softly. "I think you're too tired for more right now."

"No," Mikado starts, but Masaomi's fingertips on his lips halt further protest. Mikado tries to lick at them, but Masaomi only laughs low and sweet again, then withdraws his hand to ruffle Mikado's hair once more.

"Go to sleep now," Masaomi says.

"You, too."

"Me, too."

As Masaomi rolls onto his back, he draws Mikado closer, one arm around him as Mikado pillows his head on Masaomi's shoulder.

On the threshold of slumber, Mikado rouses himself to say, "You're not alone, Masaomi." The only response he gets is a tightening of the arm around him. And that's all the response he needs.


End file.
